Our Mistakes Don’t Define Us

About a month ago, my son trampled all over these flowers, which at the time were still just little green stems emerging from the ground.

I was shocked.

Not shocked that he would do such a thing; oh, I’m perfectly aware of the antics my wild one might pull any given day. It was just this particular act that threw me off.

We had been watching and waiting for these sprouts to grow for what seemed like eternity, to him at least. The few days the weather allowed us to be outdoors, he would dart right over to them to check their progress. Running his hands gently along them, he’d practically squeal, look mom, they’re growing! I love them!

So what changed? I had to know. Why, why would you do that? I questioned him.

His reply? They were in my way.

They were in his way. An entire backyard, woods and all, at his disposal, but those little clusters of plants just trying to make it amidst the fluctuating elements were in his way.

So there they were, once pointed toward the sky, now flattened to the earth. I tried to perk them up a bit, combing my fingers between them like I could give them life, but really, I didn’t have much hope for their recovery.

Yet.

Look at them now. Unscathed, standing tall and beautiful as ever. Can you believe it?

Sometimes in life this happens. We get so busy on our own tracks that we forget to take notice of others. Then someone comes along on our perfectly-laid path, maybe someone a little different, and rather than make some room and find a way to coincide, we walk right on over them.

We might be aware of our actions, or maybe we’re so self-absorbed in our own agendas that we are oblivious of our surroundings. We trudge on, hardly noticing the damage we’ve caused.

Living like this, it’s almost inevitable someone will get hurt in the process. Someone will get trampled on, pushed down, taken advantage of, made to feel insignificant.

The question is, will we take notice then? Will we stop and open our eyes beyond the blinders we’ve absentmindedly been wearing?

My son redeemed himself. He said he was sorry, for one; but more than that, he realized the mistake he had made. He saw how beautiful those flowers could be, and he regretted ever disregarding them.

So you see? We can do better. We don’t have to let our mistakes define us, or let the mistakes of others hold us down. We don’t have to let our lows consume us and turn our hearts black and ugly. They’re part of our story, but they don’t have to be our whole story.

We can dust ourselves off and rise.

No, not just rise – we can come out of it stronger and more beautiful than ever. We simply have to try.